T. Grey: The Fallen King

Then the banging came again, this time even harder. She flinched, her hand tightening around her gun warming the cool metal as the door shook in its sturdy frame. God, whoever it was must be strong. She wished like hell she had a peephole or even a window at the door but she had neither. The nearest front window only showed as much as the driveway. The front of the house blocked the doorway from view.

Only a door stood between her and the person knocking.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Finally finding her voice, she called out in a hard voice, “Who’s there?” Well, she’d tried for a stern voice but it still came out sounding scared, alert.

The knocking stopped as if it never happened. Only a resounding echo and her racing heart showed she wasn’t crazy.

She heard a muffled voice, deep, unintelligible.

“What?” she said, yelling louder through the door. She wasn’t stupid enough to open it. Hell no. Her thumb traced over the small safety lever on the gun, itching to release it.

“Abbigail Krenshaw,” the deep voice said.

Her stomach fell to her knees. Fuck, what did she do now? Somehow this man, it was definitely a masculine voice, knew her name and that scared the shit out of her. She looked around, feeling as if dozens of eyes were watching her but she didn’t find any. Only her empty dark house stared back at her. The green clock from the kitchen stove still lit the kitchen up in a dim glow and nightlights in the hallway and living room were dim but showed enough light to see that no one waited to jump her.

“What do you want?”

The voice didn’t answer. All went silent. Abbigail swept her gaze around her house again as if, at any moment, a window would burst and some crazed maniac would jump through her window ready to gut her like the victim she saw this morning.

“Open this door.” It was a command, an order.

Abbigail had no intention of answering it. Instead, she slowly raised her gun, keeping her thumb near the safety, and pointed it at the door. Quietly, she backed up towards the kitchen and to her phone.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! The knocking started again, unrelenting.

Her breath caught at the sound of cracking wood. Her eyes darted around the door trying to see a crack, but she couldn’t see any broken wood. She could have sworn she heard it crack. He knocked again, louder, the banging sound ringing in her ears amidst more splintering sounds. God, he’s breaking down the doorframe, tearing it down!

She turned and ran to the phone. She faced the door, gun ready as she dialed. Her fingers slipped in their haste, and she had to end the call and try again twice before she got the three digits dialed—911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“A man’s trying to break into my house,” Abbigail whispered, but her voice sounded just as panicked as she felt. The knocking continued, never stopping. “Oh my god, do you hear that?”

“What’s your address ma’am?” Abby related it quickly. “Ma’am, get to a back room with a lock on it and lock yourself in there. Stay on the line. Patrol officers are on the way.”

Abby started towards the bedroom then stopped as she felt the cord to her phone pull taut. “I can’t take the phone with me. It’s not wireless.” God, she felt really stupid now. She thought the corded, old-fashioned phone was cute and trendy when she bought it. It was one of those vintage, dark yellow ones that hung on the wall. She liked it because it came from the fifties and had a certain flair to it.

“Then set the phone down but do not hang up if you can. Patrols will be there shortly.”

No sooner than the operator declared that the door shook violently.

“He’s kicking it,” she said, part in fear and part in disbelief.

Abby waited no longer. She turned and ran for the bedroom just as she heard the door burst open in an explosion of splintered wood. The front door bounced off the wall with a resounding crack just as she entered her bedroom, slamming the door closed and flipped the measly turn lock.

Her thumb swept the safety off her gun and she sprinted into her bathroom as another bang came at her bedroom door. No way would that weak wooded door last nearly as long as the front door.

She slammed the bathroom door shut, locked it and moved as far back as she could in the tight space by wedging herself between the toilet and shower. Shaking and scared out of her mind, she raised her gun, index finger poised over the trigger and waited.

BAM! BAM! CRACK!

The bedroom door slammed open. She heard it beat against her nightstand with another blow. She started praying for the police to come, and she didn’t want to be another body like the ones she found for a living. Her arms shook. As she looked down the peephole of the black gun, the hole wavered, wobbling around in waves that she tried to steady but couldn’t.

She kept waiting for him to come, kept waiting to hear the banging on the bathroom door. But it never came. A minute passed. Then another. And another.

A part of her told her to check the door, open it just an inch and peer outside. Maybe he was gone and she did have a gun after all. She could shoot if he charged at her, but the smarter part of her mind told her to wait there. Wait for the police. They shouldn’t be that long. After all, she lived close to her job and her job which was with the police department.

Sure enough, another minute passed and she could hear the faint howling of sires in the distance. As they got louder, her heart rate slowed and her muscles relaxed, but she never dropped aim no matter how hard her arms shook.

She heard men entering her house.

“Abbigail Krenshaw!” a voice shouted.

She’d never been more relieved to hear another person’s voice in her life. She collapsed against the toilet. “Mike, I’m in the bathroom!” Footsteps bounded in her bedroom but something made her stay in the bathroom. As if she had to be certain it was safe and this wasn’t all some gimmick.

A soft triple knock came at the door. “Abbigail, are you all right?”

Mike’s voice was tense, not that she was surprised. He was a sweet guy. A good cop and she’d probably just scared the shit out of him with her call. She stood on legs that didn’t feel like her own and unlocked the door. She opened it slowly, peering out as she’d wanted to before. She met his dark blue eyes and light head of hair then let the door open all the way.

He had a hard look in his eyes, the kind he used when surveying a crime scene. “You okay?” His eyes traced her quickly from head to toe ensuring all parts were accounted for.

She nodded and before she knew it, he wrapped her in his arms. It was beyond unprofessional but she hugged him back. After the insanity she just went through, the least she deserved was a hug, right?

She pulled back first and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Now tell me why your doors are busted in and what the hell happened.”

Abby shrugged then told him what happened. His frown got deeper and deeper as she continued. No matter how hard she tried to describe how terrifying it all was, she couldn’t. No words could describe that.

“Stay in a hotel tonight. Use cash.”

It was Abby’s turn to frown. “What? No, why?”

He lifted a dark blonde eyebrow at her. “Because you don’t have a front door.”

Her face flushed and she nodded. “Right.”

She packed a bag, being sure to put her gun in there, and changed out of her pajamas. As she left her house, she saw the detective unit making a crime scene out of her home.

Mike watched her walk to her car from the front door. She didn’t like his scrutiny or that she’d needed help like this. These were good cops and had much better cases to be working on then spending time in her house. However, Mike insisted.